Chapter
XXIII

In the fortnight that followed, peace descended on Nora’s life, a peace she hadn’t known since the day Christian de Rivers galloped into her life quoting poetry and lusting for blood and the pleasure of her body.

She hadn’t realized how racked with chaos her life had become until Christian set about trying to please her. She woke one morning to find the entire household transformed. Tideman suddenly handed the manor’s keys over into her keeping. With no explanation he and his underlings began to look to her for the ordering of the house, whether it concerned the making of tallow candles or the need to replace the rushes on the floors, or the settling of a claim of paternity by one of the milkmaids. It took Nora little time at all to realize that, overnight, her husband had abdicated. Falaise was hers.

Thus Nora acquired responsibilities and duties for which she had been trained by nurses, governesses, and tutors but that she’d never dared imagine as hers. With the work came a growing feeling of worthiness, and deep inside her heart she felt iron bands loosening. She had work to do. Before, she had served a Queen and felt useless without knowing it. In his search for her goodwill, Christian had stumbled on an irreplaceable gift. Nora blossomed with each new task, each decision made and proved wise.

While she went about the unending chore of managing a nobleman’s large household, Christian shouldered the duties Tideman so often chided him for neglecting. He rode across his lands, taking stock of forest and pasture, consulted with the clerk of the estate, and judged disputes. Yet he would disappear without warning, often for more than a day, and return to throw himself at Nora’s feet and present some jewel or rare perfume to her. Not fooled, Nora refused the gifts while taking him to task for continuing to hunt for Jack Midnight.

One morning after Christian had returned from one of his disappearances, Nora was in the still room with three maids preparing to make rose water. She was standing on a stool and reaching for a jar high on a shelf when an arm lifted past her head. Christian plucked the jar from her straining fingers and swept her off the stool with his free arm.

“Good morrow, fair wife.” He planted a noisy kiss on her cheek before he set her on her feet.

Glancing at the snickering maids, Nora nodded to Christian and snatched the jar from him. Undaunted by her frown, he indicated the open door to the still room, and the maids scampered out.

“I’m going to make rose water, my lord.”

“An easy task for one as beautiful as a rose.”

Nora lifted her brows and sniffed. Beautiful as a rose. What cozening. She turned away and set the jar on the work table behind her. The room darkened as she heard the door close, and she whirled to see Christian leaning against the shut door while he lit a second candle from the flame of one resting in the pewter holder by the door.

Already wary, Nora edged toward the vat filled with fresh water as Christian crossed the room.

“Don’t take fright,” he said. “I only want to give you something.”

“Again?”

“Someday I will find a gift worthy of your admiration. Until then I will content me with poorer offerings.”

He withdrew a small object from his doublet. Holding out his hand, he opened it, palm up, to reveal a miniature prayer book wrought to hang on a lady’s girdle. Bound with gold enameled in brilliant shades of red, blue, white, and green, it rivaled any Nora had seen hanging from the gold chains that swung from the Queen’s girdle.

Unable to resist, she touched the binding with her forefinger.

“Take it,” Christian said, his low voice sending quivers down her spine.

She held out her hand, and he placed the book in it. She opened it, perusing the Latin words. “It’s beautiful.”

“Far less so than you.”

Fear burned through Nora’s pleasure. He had praised her once before and then ground her heart beneath his boot. She handed back the prayer book.

“I don’t want it.”

Christian’s shoulders sagged. “Why, Nora? I thought to please you. It’s been so long—”

“Cooking-pot plain.”

“What?”

“That’s what you called me.” She tried to swallow, but her throat was dry. “I’ve known for a long time that I was plain, but no one ever said that before. It was so much worse coming from you.”

He made a violent movement with one hand. “Stop! You must forget the things I said. I lied. Can’t you understand? I was mad, torn in two by love and hate. I don’t know how you could believe those things anyway.”

“Because my father already told me the truth.”

“Your father wouldn’t know the truth about you if God Himself came to earth and told it to him. I don’t know what demon entered Becket’s brain all those years ago, but I do know he’s wrong about you.” Christian eased closer to her, close enough to touch her sleeve. “If you don’t believe me, I can send for at least a baker’s dozen of my friends to swear to your beauty and grace of mind.”

“A baker’s dozen?” She twisted her hands together and thought a moment before shaking her head. “It’s no use. I’m afraid to trust you again.”

He stepped nearer. She met his gaze, and detected a firmness of purpose that increased her edginess.

“I bethought me that you might not,” he said. “And if I don’t find a way to regain that trust, I may indeed finally go mad. I can’t even touch you. Blade says I will fade into dust soon. But don’t look at me with those shaming eyes. I’m not trying to arouse your pity. I’ve decided that the way to gain your trust is to give you mine.”

Nora left off twisting her hands as Christian held up the prayer book. He undid the tiny clasp to open it, then twisted the small tongue of gold metal. She heard a click, and the binding snapped open to reveal a compartment. He held the book out to her, and she saw inside a folded piece of parchment. He removed the paper.

“Take it,” he said.

She took the parchment, opened it, and read. Christian de Rivers, Viscount Montfort, deny the Pope and his supremacy, and declare myself a believer in the church as ordained by the late Henry VIII of England. ” Below the words lay Christian’s signature.

The veins at her temples throbbed as Nora stared at the miniature confession that could send Christian to the stake.

“You’re a heretic?” she whispered.

He shrugged. “According to the papists I am. I happen to think God cares more about the truth of our hearts than the outward trappings of our worship.”

“You’re giving this confession to me?” She suddenly recovered herself at the realization of what Christian had done. Fear lanced through her vitals, and with it, anger. She crumpled the parchment in her fist and pounded his arm. “Have you lost your wits? What possessed you to write down such a thing?”

Rushing around the vat, she stuck the parchment in the flame of one of the candles, then thrust the burning paper in the well of the candleholder. She watched it until she was sure the whole of it was burned. Turning on Christian, she shook a finger at him.

“You are never to do such a thing again, Christian de Rivers.”

“You don’t understand.”

“I seldom understand the madness of fools.”

“Listen to me.”

“Writing it down, may God protect us.”

He swooped down on her, catching her hand and pressing his lips to the backs of her fingers to silence her.

“You miss my point,” he said. “I have placed my life in your hands.” He turned her hand over and brushed his lips to her palm.

She gaped at his bent head. “Placed your life in my hands?”

“I trust you to keep it safe.”

“But I wouldn’t want you hurt.”

Her shock had slowed her reasoning. It was beyond her to conceive of wanting to endanger Christian’s life. It was also hard to believe that he would calmly hand her the means to do so.

“Mayhap I was too dramatic,” he said. “I thought you would fancy the idea of holding my life suspended from your girdle.”

Eyes widening, she cried out, “That’s unconscionable! I could never do such a thing. The idea disgusts me.”

Chuckling, he bowed to her. “I beg your pardon.”

She reached out and boxed her husband’s ear.

“Ouch!”

“Serves you right, addlepated fool. Have you written anything else like that?”

“No.”

“Don’t.”

“Yes, little dragon.”

“Give me the prayer book.” She took it and placed it in the purse at her girdle. “So you don’t take it into your head to make another madman’s confession and put it in your hidey-place.”

She opened the door to the still room, but Christian was after her in a trice. He stopped her by putting an arm across the threshold. She bumped into the arm, her breasts pressing against it. Throwing up her hands, she started to push him away, but he stooped to whisper in her ear.

“So if I want to hide something in the book, I will have to capture your girdle, my love.”

She felt a hand on her waist. It slid down her skirt as if to search for the purse.

“Where is it?” Christian asked as he groped.

Her mouth fell open, and she gasped as his hand slid between her legs. Knocking his arm away, she scurried out of the still room.

“Come back here, wife. I’ve not done searching for my prayer book, and I’ve a sudden urge. To pray, that is.”

For the first time in weeks, Nora found herself smiling. She quickened her steps as she heard the still room door slam and Christian call her name.

“Nora, you thieving shrew, come back here with my prayer book.”

Lifting her skirts, she dashed through the house and on to the herb garden, where she hid behind a thick stand of foxglove. Christian raced past on his way to the river. When he was out of sight, she stood up and looked in the direction he had gone. Strange it was, she mused, that she felt a thrill at being chased by him.

During the next two weeks Nora’s fear of her husband lessened. Mayhap it was because he tried to bury her in costly gifts, each of which she refused. It could have been his habit of launching into bawdy song whenever she grew pensive, or the way he would forget what he was saying if he caught her looking at him.

She found herself looking at him often. It had been a long time since she had wanted to gaze at him, but lately she couldn’t help secretly studying his lips. They were a dusky rose color. She knew they were warm and pliant, and she remembered the way they seemed to tug at some hidden knot between her legs when he kissed her. More and more she caught herself thinking such thoughts, and others equally as carnal. She decided Christian had deliberately invoked them with his songs and his preening.

Like a cock in a henhouse, he had taken to parading before her. Only he kept shedding his finery instead of displaying it. Why else would he breakfast in nothing but a shirt, hose, and boots? Those shirts, they were of the thinnest silk or cambric. Though cut full, they clung to his shoulders and arms, outlining long expanses of brown flesh and arousing in Nora the urge to tear the white material and expose the flesh to her touch. If only she weren’t afraid.

That was the trouble. She was still the same Nora—timid, and sheltering in her heart a fear that Christian would suddenly turn monster again. She could be brave for Arthur, and she would continue to be, but to be brave for herself alone … that was another matter altogether.

So she dithered and stewed, longing to cast aside her wariness, yet afraid that in doing so she would be hurt beyond bearing. While she dithered, she could see that Christian suffered. Blade had been right when he told her Christian didn’t eat.

He also prowled the manor at night, unable to sleep, and Nora began to feel guilty that she was the cause of his pain. When he had first returned, she’d been too concerned with her own fears to care about what he felt or said. Nothing he did touched her heart, and all she’d had left for him was distaste. Gifts were insults, compliments mere deceptions. Until de Ateca came and threatened Christian’s life, arousing within Nora a violence she had never suspected herself of owning. Once stirred from her indifference, she found it impossible to recover it.

She couldn’t ignore him anymore, and as she began to truly look at Christian, she beheld a man in agony. The evening after de Ateca’s body had been removed to London, she’d been an unwilling and secret witness to that agony. Still racked with her own guilt at having killed a man, she had ignored her husband all day. After the evening meal, he’d given up beseeching her goodwill and said he would take a walk. Later, Nora went outside herself to the herb garden, thinking he would avoid that place that was so much hers. She was wrong. He was there contemplating the rosemary, and Blade was contemplating him.

“You’re going to cheat me of my entertainment if you die of starvation,” Blade was saying.

“Go away.”

“Here.”

Blade thrust half a loaf of bread at Christian. Christian glanced at it with no interest, then shifted so that Nora could see his face in the light of the moon. The beam illuminated his beautiful features with silver and emphasized the shadows under his eyes.

“What is it you want, comfit?” he asked Blade. “To feed me so that I’ll have the strength to suffer?”

“If you wish.”

He turned on Blade without warning. “I’ll strike a bargain.” His voice broke, and he snatched Blade’s collar, shoving his face near the youth’s. “Look, damn you. Look at me. Can you see Hell in my eyes? It’s there. I’m tied to the stake and burning in the fire I set myself. Does it please you? It should, for by God I’d rather be broken on the rack than suffer this agony.” He released Blade. “Begone, young vulture, and if you tell her what I’ve said, I’ll give you the lie.”

Blade fled, but Nora stayed to see Christian drop to his knees and cover his face with his hands. As she watched, she began to ache—ache for Christian. Furious at the resurgence of sympathy, she ran from the garden and locked herself in her chamber.

Unfortunately, all these weeks later, she was still unable to regain her indifference. As she watched Christian grow thinner, she felt shame, for part of her gloated over the fact that this man who had hurt her was now hurting as well. She prayed for forgiveness for this sin, and tried to get her husband to eat.

In the end, the only way she convinced Christian to take much food was to eat with him, and so began their daily meals together. Served by a smiling Arthur, at first they were both wary. Blade’s presence helped, for the youth taunted Christian, teasing him that he was too lovesick to eat and that the tale was going to spread to the whole court. Soon the two were sparring, and Christian would stuff his mouth full to forestall more jests. As the days passed in this manner, Nora began to feel as if she had a family, even if it did include a few bawds and vagabonds who appeared at odd times.

Late one night when the household was abed, Nora was drifting between waking and dreaming. She was having trouble falling asleep because Christian had approached her that evening, cornering her in an alcove of the hall and pressing his body to hers. He had run his tongue over her mouth, then kissed her with an erotic sucking motion that sent waves of titillation directly to her breasts. Her hesitation turned to response, only to be stifled by her fear once more. She fled, and Christian hadn’t eaten a morsel at dinner.

He was probably still up, she thought, unable to sleep again. She remembered the purple stains beneath his eyes, marks of his strain. If he didn’t find peace, he was likely to weaken himself until he fell victim to the sweat or a killing ague. As she worried over this danger, she heard the tiny grunts and whines of her puppy. He slept in a basket in her outer chamber, and she’d named him Catullus, Cat for short. The whines cut off abruptly, and she sat up in bed. She listened but heard nothing. Usually Cat’s noises continued for a space while he rooted around in his bed, pawing at his blanket.

Curious, Nora got out of bed, donning slippers and a robe. In the antechamber she crouched beside Cat’s empty bed. The little beast was prowling again, she thought, and someone had left the outer door ajar. She scurried after the puppy, but he wasn’t to be seen. She heard a boot scuff on the stairs, and Cat yipped. The yip was silenced, and she heard Christian’s voice soothing the puppy.

Even more curious than before, she followed the sound of her husband’s voice, catching up with him as he stole past the herb garden. Clutching the squirming Cat to his chest and carrying a lumpy sack, he sped out of the sally port with a word to the guard on duty. Puzzled, Nora waited until her husband was through the port before sailing past the bewildered guard herself.

Outside, she spotted Christian racing across the meadow toward the tree-lined bank of the river. She hastened to follow, finally arriving at the clearing beside the tower ruins as Christian was dragging a flat rock into a pool of light cast by a newly made fire and moonbeams. Cat was gnawing at the discarded sack. Nora approached, concealing herself behind an oak tree.

As she watched, Christian snatched Cat up and fished around in the sack, producing a ceramic pot and jug. He placed the pot on the fire and poured liquid into it from the jug. Turning back to the sack, he withdrew what looked like a tangled rope and attached it to Cat’s wriggling body like a harness. To Nora’s consternation, he then began digging, loosening soil around a plant near the fire. This done, Christian tied a length of string to the base of the plant and attached the other end to Cat’s harness. Then he crouched in front of the puppy and held out something. Nora heard his hushed voice.

“Here’s some nice meat, Cat. Come get the goody. Come, Cat.”

Cat stuck his nose in the disturbed earth and snuffled. Thwarted, Christian stuck the meat in Cat’s face; Cat chewed at one of his paws. Nora almost giggled at Christian’s curse. He tapped Cat’s nose with the meat, and this annoyance got the puppy’s attention at last.

Short legs churning, Cat plunged after the retreating meat, dragging his harness and the string with him. Something popped out of the ground when Cat jumped on the meat. Christian laughed and snatched the object up in one hand while patting his assistant with the other.

By now Nora was almost certain that Christian’s wits had snapped under the strain of their quarrels. He was digging for roots under the full moon. She could see the stalk of one in his hand. He placed it on the flat stone and began carving on it with his dagger. In a few moments he had a piece of the root separated. Rummaging in his sack again, he pulled out a gold chain. Nora watched him place the carved root in a locket suspended from the gold chain, then hang the chain around his neck.

Spreading his arms wide, he murmured something and lifted his face to the full moon. A black spider of suspicion crawled through Nora’s thoughts. Witchcraft. She shut her eyes as the idea came to her, and by the time she opened them, Christian had moved. He withdrew from the sack six little pots and set them on the flat stone. Removing the pot from the fire with the aid of gloves, he set that on the stone as well. He pulled the cork stoppers from each of the six little pots, then took a pinch of something from one of them and dropped it in the hot liquid. Suddenly Nora heard his voice clearly, and she realized he was talking to Cat. The puppy climbed into his lap as he knelt behind the stone.

Christian held the snuffling puppy in one arm and stirred the brew with a stick. “Old goodwife Winnie said to put the vervain in first, Cat. I wonder if one pinch is enough. I don’t want to wait. Waiting is killing me.” Cat strained, trying to stick his nose in the pot. “No, you don’t. That’s not for you.”

Nora smiled, certain that Christian couldn’t be trying to work black magic with a puppy as a familiar.

“Five rose petals,” he went on. “Here, Cat, you can have the sixth.” Christian wiggled a rose petal in front of the puppy, and a small tongue lapped out to catch it. “Cloves, nutmeg, lavender.” Christian dropped pinches of the contents of the other pots into his brew. “And ginger.”

Cat struggled out of Christian’s grasp and watched intently as Christian stirred the contents in the pot with a stick. Murmuring softly as he stirred, he bent over the pot and sniffed. He sneezed. Cat sniffed at the vapors arising from the pot. He sneezed.

“Oh, no,” Christian said as he tried to stir again. He sneezed a second time, and the puppy crawled onto the stone, sniffed, and sneezed just as Christian’s own erupted once more.

Nora covered her mouth with both hands to keep her giggles from escaping. Christian sneezed; Cat sneezed. Christian sneezed, dropped his stirring stick, and waved his hands to disperse the fumes wafting up from the pot. While he was gasping for breath, Cat stuck his face over the rim of the vessel and lapped at the contents.

A muffled yip made Christian look down and snatch the puppy back. “No! See what you’ve done? You burned your nose, and it serves you right.” He held Cat up in the air with both hands, sneezed, then growled in annoyance. Shaking the puppy, he said, “You probably ruined the spell, you greedy piglet.”

Cat squealed happily as his fat little belly swung in the air and his legs flailed.

“With my luck,” Christian continued scolding, “it will be you who becomes enamored of me. I’ll have a fat piglet for a lover.”

This last was too much for Nora, and she let out a hoot of laughter that startled Christian and his furry assistant. Leaning against the tree, Nora giggled while Christian thrust Cat from him and stood. As her husband stalked toward her, she tried to regain control, but the sight of him marching toward her with Cat at his heels only made her laugh harder. When he drew near, she managed to get a few words out.

“What are you doing?”

Christian frowned, toying with the chain around his neck. Then a crow of laughter burst from him and he caught her by the waist and swung her around in circles.

“It works!”

Nora felt her legs being swept out from under her as Christian picked her up and stopped circling. Cat yipped at them, then dashed off into the trees where he could be heard rooting around the leaf-strewn ground. Nora regained her breath, but lost it again when Christian squeezed her tightly. Before she could draw in enough air to protest, he swept off his cloak, threw it beside the fire, and plopped her down on it.

Landing on her bottom, Nora fell backward as Christian dropped on top of her. His body blocked out all light for a moment, then she felt his weight settle on top of her while he laughed like a boy with a new box of comfits. The chain around his neck hit her cheek. He stuffed the chain in his doublet, then lowered his head until his face was but a few inches from hers.

Startled at her own calm, Nora grinned up at his eyes crinkled in merriment. “I think your wits are addled by too much moonlight. What do you out in the dark, my lord? And how long have you been confiding your heart’s wishes to puppies?”

Her answer came in a kiss. He said nothing, but covered her lips with his. Warm and quick, his tongue snaked into her mouth, teasing while he sucked. Nora forgot her questions, but the feeling of benevolence and merriment remained to be joined by a new and teasing tension. He lifted his head and began to lick and nip at her neck. She shivered.

“Christian?”

“I love you.”

Not giving her a chance to reply, he kissed her again, all the while tugging at her robe. She felt the material give; then his body pressed against hers through the lawn of her nightgown. She tried to speak, but he kept her mouth too busy. Alarmed, she shoved at his chest. He lifted his head. His arm reached over her to the stone where the brewing pot rested. He grasped the vessel, lifted her head, and put it to her lips.

“Drink.”

“But Christian, these herbs do nothing.”

“Drink anyway.”

He tilted the pot, and she took a sip to appease him. He got rid of the pot then and kissed her again. This time he pulled at the neck of her nightgown, ripping it to expose her breast. Pinching the nipple, he sucked rhythmically at her mouth before lowering his head to her breast. Nora gritted her teeth as pleasure flooded her breast and shot down her body to her groin. Breathing rapidly with each drawing motion of his mouth, she complied when he pulled up her skirt and thrust his leg between hers.

His hips nestled against hers, moving with the rhythm of his sucking mouth, and Nora began to writhe. Christian yanked her gown down around her waist and kissed a trail across her ribs, over each breast, and up her neck to her mouth. His lips barely touched hers.

“This is the food I need, my love. Feed me, feed me.”

She opened her mouth, and he slipped his tongue inside. She could hear him murmuring, urgent, demanding words of hunger. They fed her own arousal as his hands fed the fire of her body by stroking her bare legs. Skittering his nails over her flesh, he tickled his way up to the juncture of her thighs. Nora sucked in her breath as his fingers barely touched the warmth between her legs. She gasped, almost spoke, but, as if he sensed her protest, Christian took a nipple between his teeth and bit, lightly. Nora shrieked at the jolt of agonizing pleasure that seared her. Her legs parted, and he took advantage, covering her flesh with his hand and stroking.

She wasn’t given a chance to recover. She felt him tug at her breast while he rubbed her wet and swollen flesh at the same time. On and on he continued, stoking the fire of arousal until her hips thrust upward. At their movement, he slid down her body to press his lips to her groin. His tongue caressed and stroked while his hands teased her breasts. When he fastened his mouth over her and sucked, she arched her body off the ground. Near mad with her frustration, she sobbed. Christian lifted his mouth from her flesh, and she thought she might kill him. He rose over her, holding his body away, his hands busy with the laces at his hips. Nora lost all reticence then and ripped at the ties that held his groin prisoner. His penis sprang free, and she felt its heat on her hands. Christian whispered to her.

“Open to me, sweeting.”

She hesitated, her gaze on his engorged flesh, and he swore. Pressing her thighs apart, he shoved his swollen sex against hers and flexed his hips. His sex teased her, and she grabbed frantically at his waist, pulling him closer. The madness seized her again as pleasure swelled in her groin, and she slipped her hand between them to grasp his penis and squeeze. Christian arched his back and let out a helpless cry. In one movement he shifted his organ and delved, slipping into her.

Nora felt her flesh part as he invaded, pressing his penis against the walls of her womb until they could spread no more. She lifted her hips, and he thrust fully into her, ramming against the base of her womb. She strained with her whole body, unsatisfied, until he grasped her breasts and pulled back. Pumping rapidly, he matched the thrusts of his hips with squeezes to her breasts, while Nora urged him on with violent writhings. Together they sank into a dark pool of sensation that fed arousal and admitted no other perception.

Nora gasped as Christian thrust deep into her, striving for the ultimate pleasure. She could feel it building to release, and she spread her legs wider as she arched her back to meet his driving penetrations. The release burst upon her when he suddenly grasped her hips, rose to his knees so that her feet left the ground, and impaled her with quick, driving thrusts. She screamed out her pleasure, and he doubled the pace of his thrusts. While satisfaction flowed over her, she felt him swell and swell, pump and pump. He threw his head back and cried out, and his hot seed spewed into her body.

The night air filled with their gasps. Nora’s weight rested on Christian’s arms as he remained frozen between her thighs, his penis jerking in spasms inside her. She lay with her shoulders braced on the ground, her legs falling on either side of his taut thighs, and feasted on the sight of him.

His head was still thrown back. With his features contorted in a tortured expression of ecstasy, sweat running down his neck and chest and disappearing beneath his shirt, he was a delicious sight. Nora wallowed in the sensuality of his abandonment to the needs of his body. He moaned, turning his head to the side, and thrust his penis deeper. She smiled, for she suddenly realized just how much a slave he was at the moment. Then his eyes slowly opened, and she beheld the lazy possessiveness within them. Her own eyes widened as he lowered her to the ground without withdrawing.

“Now,” he said in a low, exultant voice, “now I have you.” He kissed her nipples, then lifted his head to stare into her eyes. “At last, I have you as you have had me.”

She tried to attend to his words, but she found their shift in position distracting. She wiggled her hips, and Christian sucked in his breath. Fascinated, she slipped her hands into his hose and grasped his buttocks. Squeezing the muscles, she turned her attention to the feel of his penis inside her. As she did so, she found that she could move her inner muscles to increase the feeling of fullness. It was easy.

“God’s mercy, Nora, stop!”

“No.”

He cursed and braced his hands on either side of her, shoving to try to withdraw. She pulled him back with her hands on his buttocks and sucked him farther into her body with her newfound muscles. He fell on top of her with a cry, then arched his back, forcing himself even deeper.

“Please, no,” he muttered, closing his eyes and flinging his head back. “I can’t. Ahhh!”

Feeling the swell of his organ, Nora lifted her hips against him. His penis responded, growing and shuddering in spasms to fill her again. A cry of defeat burst from his lips, and he surrendered with a renewal of his practiced movements. Obediently he pumped his organ back and forth, unable to escape. Soon Nora burned anew and they succumbed to their own lust in a mindless explosion.

Nora welcomed Christian’s burning flesh as he collapsed on top of her. His hot cheek rested against hers. His arms and legs lay spread and trembling. He was heavy, but after all, it was her fault he was so exhausted.

She thought about his attempts at love magic and smiled. Only a man deeply in love would risk making a fool of himself. If his friends ever found out he’d consulted goodwife Winnie, he would suffer from their amusement and derision. Goodwife Winnie was a village cunning woman, one of many renowned in rural England for her knowledge of benevolent magic.

She remembered Christian’s opinions about love magic, voiced long ago. Secure in his own near-magical appeal to women, he’d scoffed at poor louts who resorted to trickery. What such buffoons needed, he’d declared, was lessons in how to use their bodies to pleasure women, not spells. Poor Christian had been desperate indeed to have fallen so low.

Poor Christian. She turned her face to nuzzle his cheek, and heard his voice, low and vibrant with satisfaction, as he sang to her once more.

Nora hadn’t thought it possible for her skin to grow hotter than it was already. She burrowed her head into Christian’s neck as he chuckled at her.

Poor Christian indeed.